The stories behind the buildings, statues and other points of interest that make Manhattan fascinating.

Monday, May 18, 2015

The Lost Colored Orphan Asylum -- 5th Avenue and 44th Street

A romanticized etching appeared in A. Costello's Our Firemen: A History of the New York Fire Department in 1887 (copyright expired)

Contrary to the conception of some, racial bias and
discrimination were as much a part of Northern mores as they were of the Deep
South's. The 1936 history From
Cherry Street to Green Pastures: A History of the Colored Orphan Asylum at
Riverdale-on-Hudson recalled that the orphanage was “Founded in stirring
times, when race prejudice was rife.”

Those stirring times were 1834 when two Quaker women, Anna
Shotwell and her niece, Mary Murray, discovered that black orphans, unlike their white
counterparts, were either confined to the alms house or to the
streets to fend for themselves. The New-York Daily Tribune later reported “Their
only place of refuge was the Alms House at Bellevue, where colored children are
mingled with the adult inmates, exposed in consequent to very corrupting
influences, and imperfectly furnished with the means for any kind of
instruction.”

The women relentlessly badgered city leaders “trying to make
the officials understand that they were only storing up trouble for themselves
if they did not find homes, education and a chance for self-respecting
employment for hapless negro boys and girls.”
They also appealed to friends and wealthy citizens for funding.

In 1836 they purchased a house on 12th Street
between Fifth and Sixth Avenues. The
purchase was necessary because no property owner would lease to a group housing
black children. With the house ready to receive orphans, three Quaker women headed to the almshouse. They
rescued 11 children who were being housed in the cellar there. But there was a problem. According to the 1936 history, “They could
not be taken to their new home by carriage, for no coachman would drive negro
children, yet several of them were too small to walk.”

Anna Shotwell picked up one of the toddlers and told Mary
Murray and the other woman, “I’ll carry this one if thee will take the others.” And a rather extraordinary pilgrimage through
the streets of Manhattan was made to what the women called “the cottage.”

But the “cottage” would not suffice for long. The group of women lobbied for funds
to build an appropriate orphanage and school.
On December 12, 1842 the New-York Daily Tribune reported that work had
commenced on the Colored Orphan Asylum on Fifth Avenue just north of the Croton Reservoir (now the site of the New York Public Library). “Twenty lots of ground were
appropriated for the purpose by the Corporation of the City, and private
subscriptions to a considerable amount of have been received for the same object.”

The location, between 43rd and 44th
Streets, was undeveloped and rocky.
Fifth Avenue was still a rutty, dirt road this far north. But the high location and open lands
provided fresh air and sunshine, highly prized attributes for Victorian
orphanages.

The Tribune noted “Such an Institution was thought to be
especially needed, because these children, although the most wretched of
orphans, were virtually excluded from all the existing Orphan Asylums.”

The Asylum opened in May 1843. It was an impressive brick structure sitting
on a high basement faced in fieldstone.
Three-story pilasters separated the openings of the slightly-projecting
central section, above which sat a classical pediment. The New-York Tribune would report “Mr. Joseph
B. Collins states that the Asylum for Colored Orphans was erected at an expense
of $20,000, which had been procured in donations by the exertions of a few
ladies.” That amount would translate to
about $650,000 today.

A primitive water color dated 1847 shows the unpaved 5th Avenue, the Croton Reservoir at 42nd Street, boulders and a shanty. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult&VBID=24UAYW3AOT9M&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

“Shortly after the house was opened the Mayor and Common
Council paid a visit and were so pleased that they gave the Association twenty
additional lots. This permitted the
institution to keep two or three cows and to plant a vegetable garden,” reported
the Asylum’s centennial history.

Only children under 12 years of age were housed here. Education at the Asylum included the
learning of a trade for boys, and domestic skills for the girls. Once a ward of the Asylum reached 12 years
old, he or she was released as a farm laborer or domestic servant.

To supplement donations, the mangers of the Colored Orphan
Asylum held fairs. These were a common
Victorian method for churches and other institutions to raise money. On December 26, 1845 one of the managers
wrote a letter to the Editor of the New-York Daily Tribune that dripped with
slightly-veiled sarcasm.

“The interest manifested by H. Greeley, for improving the
moral and physical condition of his fellow men, among whom I am pleased to
observe he recognizes the colored man, induces me to take the liberty of
directing his attention to ‘the Fair for the benefit of the Colored Orphan
Asylum,’ got up entirely by colored people at their own suggestion.”

The orphanage was, by now, housing 145 children and costs
were on the increase. The letter ended
saying “If you would pay a visit to the Asylum some Tuesday or Friday, you
would, I think, be gratified to witness an assemblage of happy faces—made so by
those who can sympathise with suffering humanity, regardless of the shade of complexion—and
in the advancement of mind and morals he would rejoice that so large a number
had been rescued from the contamination and degradation which their helpless condition
must have subjected them.”

Etching from the collection of the New York Public Library

The Tribune followed up on the success of the fair on
January 12, 1846. “To their credit it is
announced that on Saturday they paid over to the Institution nearly seven
hundred dollars, beside presenting the inmates with a large quantity of cakes
and other dainties.” The newspaper concluded its article with a remark unthinkable to modern
readers. “This shows that they rightly
appreciate and gratefully acknowledge the benefaction to their race conferred
by the Society.”

But by the end of the year, the $700 was gone and the
managers were once again pleading for donations. On December 11 they wrote “The anxiety
arising from the care of so large an establishment can scarcely be realized by
those who have not deeply participated in its responsibilities. The table must be daily supplied, clothing
adapted to the coming season, and the moderate salaries and wages of those
employed cannot be withheld.”

On May 10, 1847 the Asylum celebrated its 11th
Anniversary with an exhibition by the children.
The New-York Daily Tribune said they “numbered about 100, and presented
a pleasingly tidy and orderly appearance.
The exercises in singing, geography, arithmetic, etc. were most
creditable alike to teachers and pupils.”

In his remarks to the audience Mr. Ketchum wondered at the
fates of the children were it not for the asylum. “Not a third of them would have been visible
to our eyes; those would doubtless have sunk to their graves who are now
rescued by these benevolent ladies, washed and clothed, fed and provided with a
comfortable home.” He recounted the
story of a Southern slave holder who, after visiting the Colored Orphan Asylum,
went home and freed his slaves. “Now,
the managers did not ask him to do that—but doubtless there were very glad of
it!”

In February 1851 the number of orphans had risen to 114 with
net expenses totaling about $281 per month.
The indefatigable managers continued to hold fairs and knock on doors
for support.

When one of the teachers died in August 1852, Rev. J. W.
Pennington, pastor of the black Presbyterian church at the corner of Prince and
Marion Streets, headed to her funeral at the Asylum. Black citizens were barred from riding in
public omnibuses; so he sought alternative transportation to no avail.

He wrote to the Editor of The New York Times on September 25
“On the block above my house is a carriage-stand, where I stopped and attempted
to negotiate for a hack, but $1.50 was the lowest cent I could get one for, to
go the distance! So in painful
excitement I walked the entire distance, under the burning sun of one of our
hottest days, getting there after the hour, and not fit for service.”

Pennington said “it is a hard case that a man should be
compelled, in the public service, to walk ounce after ounce of his heart’s best
blood out of him every day, and not be allowed to avail himself of the public
conveyances designed to save time, health, and life…I shall be told that the
majority of the public will object to my riding in the ‘busses. Is that true?
Will the members of a Christian public object to me, a minister of
Christ, using the facilities of a public conveyance, while about my Master’s
business?” He concluded his letter
saying “I ask for simple justice at the hands of my countrymen.”

By 1860, with the number of orphans now at 180, the Asylum
had managed to get assistance from the City—60 cents a week per orphan. In desperation the Directors appealed to the
Department of Public Charities for additional funds--$1 per child—at its May 24th
meeting. The Department’s minutes showed
that the request, “with a number of others of less importance,” was referred to
the Committee of the Whole.

The Directors waited three weeks until the Department came
to a resolution. On June 14, according to The New York Times, “it
was decided that in the future 70 cents per week should be paid to the Colored
Orphan Asylum for each pauper child.”

The Asylum received three unlikely orphans on August 25, 1860. On July 22 the W. R. Kibby, a slave brig of Boston, was found abandoned by the Crusader off Anguills, in Spanish
waters. It was hauled to New
Orleans. On August 14 the New Orleans Picayune reported “On opening the fore
hatch, one of the men discovered a wooly head, and thinking it was some one of
the negro stewards from the Crusader, stowed away in order to go North, he
hailed him as such, but no response, and it proved to be a boy, one of the
original cargo.”

In fact there were three African boys in the cargo hold; now
in need of water and food after eight days of hiding. The W.
R. Kibby was ordered to be sailed to New York, “for the purpose of
condemnation, she having been found derelict, and subsequently with African
slaves on board.”

Upon reaching Manhattan, the boys were put in the Eldridge
Street jail. They captured the attention of United States
District Attorney James I. Roosevelt. Although
it appears he was more moved by the intelligence they could provide than by
humanitarian reasons.

On August 24 The New York Times reported that Roosevelt, “who
has manifested much interest in the three African boys found on board of the slaver
Kibby, has written to the President, suggesting that they should be released from
their imprisonment in Eldridge-street Jail, and be placed in the Colored Orphan
Asylum in this City, where they can be instructed, and thus enable the Government
to obtain the particulars of their capture, and other facts concerning the
voyage of the Kibby, the fate of their several hundred comrades, and such
information as would be of servtee in suppressing the Slave-trade.”

The newspaper added “The boys appear quite cheerful, though
evidently at a loss to understand why they are shut up in prison.”

Older girls pose with hoops in the paved play yard. Younger children sit on the steps. From the collection of the New York Historical Society

On January 27, 1860 the children once again exhibited their
learning for the public. The New York
Times said that the orphans, “in matters of personal cleanliness and robust
health, would challenge comparison with the attendants of any free educational
institution in this City.” The writer
seemed astounded at their aptitude. “The
musical taste and tenacity of memory exhibited in these performances were
surprising. The songs were in several
instances led by a most diminutive specimen of the colored race, whose
old-fashioned antics excited immense laughter, and on one occasion even evoked
an encore.”

On April 12, 1861 the Confederate Army opened fire on Fort
Sumter in South Carolina, sparking the Civil War. The
orphans on Fifth Avenue, seemingly a world away, were happily unaware--for now.

On November 29, 1862 The Times reported on Thanksgiving
celebrations. “A glad sight it was to
see the hundreds of these colored children, rescued from poverty and crime, and
placed under the kindest and best Christian influences, fitting them for a lift
of respectability and usefulness.” It
would be the last Thanksgiving dinner in the stately orphanage building.

In 1863 the Draft Lottery was established to augment troops
fighting in the South. But corrupt
practitioners focused on the working class—primarily Irish immigrants—while the
wealthy bought their way out of service.
A protest quickly disintegrated into a bloody riot; three days of
murder, looting and arson in July with innocent blacks being strung up from
lampposts, shot and stabbed.

It was not merely men in the mob; women and children joined
in the looting. On July 13 the rabble
headed for the Asylum. The following day
The New York Times reported “The Orphan Asylum for Colored Children was visited
by the mob about 4 o’clock…Hundreds and perhaps thousands of the rioters, the
majority of whom were women and children, entered the premises, and in the most
excited and violent manner they ransacked and plundered the building from
cellar to garret.”

Items were tossed out of the upper windows and one little girl
among the mob, 10-year old Jane Barby, was killed “by furniture which was
thrown upon her.”

The newspaper estimated that there were perhaps 600 to 800
terrified children within the building. “When
it became evident that the crowd designed to destroy it, a flag of truce
appeared on the walk opposite, and the principals of the establishment made an
appeal to the excited populace, but in vain.”

The newspaper reported that the entire orphanage had been
ransacked, “and every article deemed worth carrying away had been taken—and this
included even the little garments for the orphans.” Repeatedly the rabble tried to set the
building on fire. Chief Engineer Decker
stood on the top step of the entrance “amid an infuriated and half-drunken mob
of two thousand, and begged them to do nothing so disgraceful to humanity as to
burn a benevolent institution, which had for its object nothing but good. He said it would be a lasting disgrace to
them and to the City of New-York.”

Decker’s pleas were in vain.
The mob wanted not only to burn the orphanage, but to murder the
children inside. “The institution was
destined to be burned, and after an hour and a half of labor on the part of the
mob, it was in flames in all parts.”

Children flee through the crowds at the orphanage burns. One orphan, at far left, is being beaten and stomped -- Harper's Weekly, August 1, 1863 (copyright expired)

Five stage coach drivers, among them Paddy McCaffrey, and
the members of Engine Company No. 18 saw around 20 of the orphans surrounded by
the murderous mob. “It hardly seems
credible, yet it is nevertheless true, that there were dozens of men, or rather
fiends, among the crowd who gathered around the poor children and cried out, ‘murder
the d—d monkeys,’ ‘Wring the necks of the d—d Lincolnites,” reported The Times
on July 17. “Had it not been for the
courageous conduct of the parties mentioned, there is little doubt that many,
and perhaps all of those helpless children, would have been murdered in cold
blood.”

The children miraculously escaped through the courageous
actions of heroes like Paddy McCaffrey.
The 19th Precinct Station House received “two hundred and
sixteen of the children, none over twelve years of age, who had escape from
their home by the rear as the dastardly and infamous mob forced an entrance in
front and fired the building,” reported The Times. “These little ones would
undoubtedly have been slaughtered had they not been carefully guided away. They were sadly terrified on reaching the
Station, but were reassured, housed, and kindly cared for by Sergeant Petty.”

Looters carry away furniture as the Colored Orphan Asylum burns to the ground -- from the collection of the New York Public Library

On August 16 all the children were conveyed to Randall’s Island.
Their orphanage was a blackened ruin.

On November 12, 1863 the Superintendent of Unsafe Buildings
directed that the charred walls of the Colored Orphan Asylum be taken
down. Almost immediately, fund raising
began to rebuild. But not everyone
thought it was such a good idea.

In 1863 the land around the orphanage site was no longer
rural, rocky terrain. The mansions of
Manhattan’s wealthiest citizens had begun creeping up the now-paved Fifth
Avenue. One reader of The New York
Times, who preferred to remain anonymous, voiced his concerns in a letter to
the editor on August 1.

“The location, however good for the purpose originally, is
bad, very bad, at the present time. The
land is altogether too valuable. It would
sell quickly at one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars,--and why devote
so costly a property for such a purpose?”

To support his argument, he offered a nearly preposterous
prediction. “This building has been
recently burned by a mob; who can tell when the next asylum, on the same spot,
may follow suit? Better build at a
distance from the mob, where they would not be likely to go, and out of this
county.”

The children were housed at 51st Street and Fifth
Avenue for four years until the new Colored Orphan Asylum was completed far
away at 143rd Street. Fine
mansions soon occupied the site of the old orphanage; replaced in the 1896 by the elegant Sherry's restaurant; and in the 20th
century by soaring office towers.